


Sua Tomba Vincino Al Mare

by tryskelyon (Erwan_O_Dannan)



Series: Ultras from Napoli [1]
Category: Ultras (2020)
Genre: British English, Canonical Character Death, Could Be Canon, English is not my native language, Friendship, I wrote it bc me heart blead at that gunshot, Italy, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Mourning, One year death anniversary, Post-Canon, Spoilers, Ultras - Freeform, a heart-warming fanfic for all of those who need it, and for the rest of the movie I cloud not believe he was dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24000250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erwan_O_Dannan/pseuds/tryskelyon
Summary: /!\ WARNING, CONTAINS SPOILERS. DO NOT READ IF YOU PLAN TO SEE THE FILM. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. /!\Angelo visits Sandro's grave by the sea.
Relationships: Angelo & Sandro
Series: Ultras from Napoli [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750411





	Sua Tomba Vincino Al Mare

It was almost dark. The cool Italian air was fresh for a near summer night, but Angelo was only dressed in a t-shirt. He took the path he came to know by heart, from his shiny flat to a nearly abandoned graveyard. He was alone, for he could not bear anyone beside Fiorè when he went to visit Sandro.

The sound of his vehicle was deafening in the quiet neighbourhood where the grave was. He parked in front of a rusted collapsed gate, and jumped over it. Angelo did not walk long. Sandro was facing the sea, his tomb decorated with flowers and an Apache scarf. The young Ultra kneeled in front of it, his head facing the Earth.

He was thinking about all the things that happened, before _and_ after his death. Angelo’s life was now bounded to death with the group, and the football team. He was too far, to deep, in this world, and he knew from when he went to Rome that there was no coming back. But Sandro did not have to die for his decisions. For his choice to burn the capital.

Slowly, a tear found its way out of his eye, and dropped to the floor. It was soon followed by another one, and another one, until the young man was crying in the grass. Merda. Even after a year, it hurt like hell. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he did not check. Nothing was important when he was here, not even his mother.

Angelo lifted his head, his vision still blurred by slaty water. On the tombstone was sited Sandro, enveloped in a halo-like white light.

“Sandro?”

He was puzzled. Was he dreaming ? His mentor climbed off, and approached him.

“Angiolè,” the old man said to him when they were facing each other.

Without thinking, the young Ultra threw him-self forward, and Sandro took him into his arms. Angelo said nothing, just holding as tight as he could. He wanted to never let go, even if he knew it was some kind of dream. The old Ultra stroked his protégé’s short hair, and for the first time since he cut his hair, Angelo missed his long blond curls. They stayed like that until it was pitch black, and he was shivering with cold.

Carefully, Sandro separated the young man from him. He was still enveloped in the strange halo, providing enough light for Angelo to see him.

“Angiolè,” said again the old Ultra. “Do not blame yourself for my death.”

The calm tone was enough for the young man to feel again tears in his eyes.

“But… you… you died because of me!”

His voice broke, and a knot in his guts prevented him from more talking.

“No, I died for you,” replied Sandro, and before Angelo could say anything, he added. “And I have made the right choice, because I am proud I did it for you. I am proud I saved you and Fiorè, you two have a life in front of you. I lived enough to see what is to be seen, experience what is to experience. You being an Ultra does not rejoice me, but I am more than proud of you.”

Angelo could not hold his tears back, not again. All his life he sought approval, sought a fatherly figure, and when his brother died, Sandro had become his father.

“I am sorry we parted with you thinking I was mad at you.”

Eventually said the ex-Ultra, after the younger one managed to breathe correctly again.

“I… I am sorry too.”

“Good.”

Then Angelo was again in his father’s arms, enjoying their warmth.

“Look, I have to go now,” whispered Sandro in his ear, after a too short amount of time.

“No! Please don’t!” whispered back the young man.

“I can’t stay here forever. You have to let me go, Angiolè.”

They were facing each other again. Sandro had a sad smile on his face, and his eyes screamed pain.

“I can… can’t.”

“I know, Angiolè, I know.”

His presence was fading away, and in a last effort to keep him, Angelo cried :

“No, no! Per favore, O’ Sà!”

But he was gone, just like that. The young Ultra fell on the ground, his face buried in his hands.

Angelo suddenly woken up. He was on the graveyard’s ground, and shivering. When it hit him, it was like a slap in the face.

“I was just a dream, Angelo, just a dream,” he said to himself, trying to get up.

As he was now standing in front of the grave, his phone as a flash light, he felt something warm being wrapped around him. He turned around, but he was alone. He faced again Sandro’s tomb, and he heard something being whispered in his ear.

“Ti amo, Angiolè.”

The young Ultra smiled to himself. Maybe he wasn’t alone after all. Maybe Sandro will always be with him, such as his brother will always be in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up wayyyyy longer than I planned lol (200 words to the +800 is has now ^^)
> 
> I have more of those, if anyone is interested.


End file.
